


Revenge May Not Always be Worth it

by FantasyRyder



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Game of Thrones-esque, Hannibal Lecter Being an Asshole, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal is a knight, He's also a bastard, I don't wanna be flaunting spoilers, I only say that because I have never watched it but feel the vibe of this fanfiction will be similar, M/M, Rating May Change, SO, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, Sort of Underage, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Will is a Mess, Young Will Graham, also, and, but honestly every hannigram fic should have that tag, but they don't get freaky until much later, i think i'm done tagging, in the future, oh yeah, this is actually one of my planned out stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyRyder/pseuds/FantasyRyder
Summary: William has a vendetta to satisfy and with the help of an unlikely companion, that may be a possibility.





	1. Chapter 1

The air was frigid and silent, the only sound registering in the brunette boy’s flushed ears was the brush of steadily floating flurries around him: a sound so subtle it could easily be mistaken as an auditory hallucination, but apparent enough in his state of focus.

He didn’t need to stand there, poised, as long as he did, but he was soothed by the atmosphere and relieved of the unsatisfying thoughts that came with the thud of the arrow against the now mangled tree.

Said tree was there longer than he was, but it was young when he arrived years before. It was like an old friend if you shot at your old friend daily. Punctures scarred its bark, old and new, as well as a healed gash or two on its sides when he experimented with sword fighting. That day, he resolved that the tree didn’t deserve the additional wounds. Occasionally, one of his many dogs would sniff around its base and with that same frame of thought, the boy would lead them away. 

He knew it was an odd attachment, but Will wasn’t perturbed by his partner’s subtle comments about how strange it was.

With his mind on said partner, closed eyes opened and landed on a random puncture in the bark, choosing to aim there. He blinked a few more times, giving the flakes that landed on his lashes the momentum needed to be carried off by a gentle breeze that caressed his already reddened cheeks.

Once the breeze slowed to nothing, he flexed numbed fingers clenched around the grip, loosened his form, closed his eyes, and released the string. 

Will didn’t enjoy the sound made by his weapon and flinched ever so slightly when it echoed through the previously silent forest that surrounded him. 

Opening his eyes, he chose to scope out his surroundings before assessing the damage. A clearing speckled with saplings and blanketed in a thin layer of snow extended out in front of him until meeting a rather dense wall of furs, this was similar to each of his sides, but when he turned almost completely around, he took in a humble but well-made cabin. It somehow satisfied Will’s inclinations towards simplicity and the pompousness that came with Hannibal’s rank as a knight. Dogs laid about in front of the house, the stronger of them aiming to rest in the snow while the weaker enjoyed waiting for Will to retire on the porch.

After meeting eyes with Winston and recognizing his craving for warmth, he sighed and looked back to the tree, arrow lodged not nearly where he wanted it to be, but close enough for him to feel accomplished for an hour or so. Half of his canines shot up when he spun on his heel to face them after tugging the arrow from the tree, and with a faint laugh of surrender, he trudged up onto the porch and opened the door, instantly overcome with warmth from the fire that he put out what felt like hours before.

Excitedly, his dogs ran past him and commuted where their beds congregated in the corner. He watched them for a moment, master and pets mutually contented with one another, and despite forcing them to stay out with him on the coldest day of the year, three of his seven ran to and snuffed at his numb hands when he laid back against the couch. 

Ignoring the effort, he forced himself to drag nimble, sore fingers through one of the long-haired dog’s fur, a faint, grateful smile playing across his features when she laid her head against the armrest in return. His eyes fall shut as he cups her cheek, grasps loose skin in an endearing fashion, and shook playfully. 

“Good girl.”

///////

“Good boy,” Will soothed, soft hand feeling along the dips of the dog’s skull as he lifted another piece of meat to his awaiting jaws. Dimples cut into the boy’s cheeks when Brutus (given the title by Will in that exact moment) swallowed, sniffed at his cheeks, and licked him. Brutus’s breath was foul and his tongue felt bigger than the side of the boy’s face, but the gesture was appreciated.

“William Graham!” his mother yelled from her opened bedroom window, “That’d better not be another mutt I see! Your father would have a fit!”

The son sighed forlornly, playfully shaking at the dog's limp ears before turning to head back home. As if on cue, the intimidating mutt licked its chops gratefully, reacting to the meal Will so graciously provided. He knew his mother saw the action but entered their homestead fearlessly anyway.

“Have you no sense?” 

Will didn’t have time to react before she took hold of his curls in a non-threatening fashion, aiming for his attention rather than discomfort, though she’d been with him long enough to know that eye contact almost always ended with discomfort on Will’s end. Despite this, he lets the grip lead his eyes up into her green own, very unlike his. 

“I work hard on your meals and you hand them off to any dog within a mile of our home,” she stuck her nose down in regards to Will’s slim arms, “No wonder you have no meat on your bones,” and releases his hair abortively.

Will, almost guiltily, took in her onslaught and nodded when he felt the sharp feeling of eyes boring into the top of his head.

“Come on then, we’re going to the kitchen. I’ll watch you eat if I have to. When you're done, you’ll help me finish cleaning. Do you understand?”

There was a long silence as her tone left no room for argument.

“Can you speak?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand,” Will nearly released in a single breath.

Queen Graham took in a long sigh, regarding her son. The look seemed to be one of concern despite how annoyed her demeanor had been leading up to that moment. When he didn’t elaborate further, she made haste to the kitchen.

The queen wasn’t Will’s mother, or real mother anyway. He wasn’t told a lot given his estranged status in the family, but he knew he was a bastard, most likely birthed from a concubine or unofficial partner of his father exactly fifteen years, five months, and twelve days before then. 

Will rationalized that Queen Graham must have felt just as estranged as him. Why would she bother with him otherwise? Her other children were nearly his age, the eldest being almost seven months younger than him, and were her blood, yet she focused on the boy who was “odd”. It didn’t take Will long to find out that “odd” was the kind way of saying retarded. 

Despite that, she stuck by his side and attempted to aid in curing his issue, unlike his careless father and absentee mother. She took strives to help him with socialization and eye contact and for that, Will was grateful. Overall, he wasn’t treated delicately, or as though he was unstable, she treated him like her other children, which meant more to Will than anything.

“It’s good?”

Will suddenly jerked out of his trance, finally realizing that he’d been staring into the beef stew for too long. “Erm,” he clears his throat and spoons the broth and a chunk of meat in his mouth clumsily, “very good. Amazing.”

She laughed endearingly, exchanging looks with the maids she voluntarily worked beside. “Well hurry, the windows won’t be dusted themselves now will they?”

Will nodded his head no (an action that caused his curls to bob almost comically) and hurriedly finished, blushing lightly at the attention he received from the pretty maids.

///////

Glazed, blue eyes looked through the glass as Will’s wrist worked in sweeping motions along the window pane. Through the slightly milky glass, he could see his father’s subjects. He was never really allowed in the actual village, and lived most of his life in seclusion, though he was sure he was heard of.

He could imagine the other kingdoms talking of the Graham’s “slow” prince. How he hadn’t been seen since birth and how he crawled out of the womb of a whore. Will didn’t need his siblings to assign him nicknames when he had the imagination to do it himself. If anything, Will craved their attention, ached for the comradery that exuded around them when they walked about the castle as a group.

He flinched when he realized he had been submerged in yet another lapse of time and thought, and when he actually began to focus on the sights and sounds around him, his blue eyes landed on a man, who looked to be around thirty years of age, at the market in front of the castle. His head was tilted up towards Will, and despite the distance, Will felt like he could see the man’s eyes locked on his form through the window. 

He stood out in a way the prince couldn’t put to thought. It could have been the unique bone structure of his face or his ashen hair, but it instead, it triggered the empathy Will didn’t really know he had. 

When Will regarded the man’s gaze, he felt scrutinized and predisposed, as he was first looked at with an air of curiosity which evolved to acceptance and underestimation. Will didn’t know why he felt offended when the man allowed the angle of his head to fall. When he walked away and into the mild crowd, he shined brightly in the boy’s mind.

“That man was important,” Will thought before looking down at the spotless window pane and walking to the next.


	2. Chapter 2

“He really was important,” Will finalized bitterly.

The air in the basement he was stored in was musty and humid. A thin layer of filth was obvious against his previously unblemished skin and curly hair fell down in stringy clumps. 

It had been nearly a month and Will figured the soldier who took him prisoner had grown disgusted by his appearance, as he was a very prim and proper fellow in Will’s eyes and hadn’t come into the makeshift dungeon in a day and two nights, apparent by the window across from the wall he was chained against. 

His nearly concave stomach heaved with his breaths under the thin, formerly white, material of his blouse-like dress shirt. Will wasn’t starved under Hannibal’s supervision. On the contrary, he would have been fed well if he himself bothered to consume all the food the knight provided, though that wasn’t the case, as the first week after his entrapment, he grew too keen on the sick satisfaction that melted over the older man’s features when he consumed what he was told was pig. Eventually and understandably, he grew weary of the protein provided and chose to only eat select greens, shallots, and potatoes.

Despite the blandness of the ingredients, Hannibal cooked them with enough finesse for them to taste heavenly. That fact applied to the meat Will ate on his first week as well, he realized, as he craved even the food that most unsettled him.

Evening soon began to overtake the already dark room as the moon basked Will in a deep blue hue. His eyes shut in surrender, waiting for the darkness of night to consume him, and in turn, unconsciousness.

He was jarred from his sleep when he heard the faint sound of the latch of the door to the basement being dragged from its sheath, allowing it to swing open. Will’s head tilted back against the unforgiving brick wall behind him in defeat. Allowing his head to loll aside and in the direction of the doorway, he watched the intimidating figure of his captor enter.

Will’s head straightened stubbornly, blue eyes hardened towards his form and sharpening with malice when he looked to the boy. Hannibal’s brown eyes skimmed about Will’s countenance with an air of disinterest, but Will knew otherwise.

Hannibal exuded an air of disinterest as a defense mechanism. He was bored in some respect, and the former prince was his entertainment. After their first official meeting, it was clear that he took a particular shining to Will. Whether it was for his odd demeanor, or his (begrudgingly admitted) feminine features, Will did not know, but he did know he would not revoke his honor and grow complacent for one of the men who ripped that responsibility from his family members and left it only to William, the bastard prince, now, recently, rightful king of the Graham’s former territory.

It was renamed after the raid and subsequent slaughter of almost all of the royal subjects, leaving only Will. 

Looking up at Hannibal, the boy dreamt of his superiors catching wind of what he’s been doing, harboring the last heir to that throne, and killing the man in front of him. Those thoughts, Will later realized, had been unfair in a broad sense. Will was, by no means, a violent child. He loved dogs and animals of all types, took an interest in girly things like blooms, and had a timid personality, but under the control of a man whom he knew killed at least one of his kin, he’d grown hateful and stubborn.

Hannibal was not unreasonable by any means, but he did not harbor the mind for overwhelming empathy like the teen before he did. He was merely a soldier, fluidly climbing ranks and predicted to be a commander of sorts soon, but a soldier nonetheless; a soldier who was given a task, and a soldier who abided by it. So, for that reason, Hannibal did not apologize for what he was told to do, but he did deliberate over apologizing for leaving the boy in the basement, alone, for as long as he did, but decided to explain himself instead.

“I was needed for a short mission and thought against telling you. Obviously, it went on for a bit too long I’m afraid, but I’m sure you’ll enjoy what I have prepared for you.”

Will’s eyes fell to the hardy bowl of steaming stew in his large hands as it was offered to him carefully, as to not allow the rich broth to spill over the sides. He questioned whether to accept the offer out of spite but decided spite should never be at the expense of discomfort or death.

The bowl was almost unbearably warm against his hands, but he accepted the small comfort gratefully and tilted the mouth of the bowl to his lips, sipping on the brownish broth. Warmth spread down his esophagus until reaching his stomach, warming him almost at once. The soup tasted like a bonfire in a blizzard, like a temporary comfort that he consumed at once. Hannibal left sometime in the middle of the gracious consumption and returned when the boy lay sagged and satiated, propped against the wall behind him.

“I realize you may hate me, but understand that your malice is currently misdirected.”

Will’s brows furrow in annoyance at the accusation, but Hannibal continued, paying no mind to his offense.

“I am, like you were, a pawn in the grand scheme of everything.”

Will flinched in shock as Hannibal advanced upon him but the fear proved unnecessary when one of those warm hands encircled his small wrist and unclasped the single hand bound against the wall. It fell limply when free not because he was in pain or the wrist was tired, but rather out of surprise.

“This is temporary,” he trailed, clinically checking the wrist for any cuts or infection, “you’re not exactly pleasant to look at in your current state. You will be washed and I’ll decide whether I trust you enough to allow you out of the basement. Do you understand?” His eyes flash into Will’s patiently.

With a deep inhale, he nodded, eyes firmly resting on Hannibal’s. It pained him to keep the contact, but he was sure his mother would appreciate the rebellion. On top of that, there wasn’t a lot to dwell upon when Will looked into Hannibal’s eyes. Will, usually, was overwhelmed with everyone else’s emotions and thoughts, he saw too much. With Hannibal, he saw nothing, and that both terrified and liberated him.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I watched one GOT compilation and came up with this idea. It will gradually pick up.


End file.
